


Pink

by museaway



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade "Missed Connections" Fic Dump [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Craigslist, Dean in Panties, Gorgeous fanart by thunderjellyfish, Laundromat, Lawrence Kansas, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Missed Connections, Phone Sex, Pink Panties, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a chance encounter at Lawrence Laundromat (at 3am, no less), Castiel is enthralled with his memory of a man in dusty jeans and a plain t-shirt with a pair of panties in his laundry basket. So Charlie Bradbury (aka Castiel's Former Best Friend) places a "missed connections" ad on his behalf, because that's what friends are for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink

**Author's Note:**

> The Brigade said that I could write cuddling for this challenge, but I believe in pushing my limits, so I compromised with panties and blowjobs.
> 
> I had too much fun researching businesses in Lawrence and would like to move there. [Lawrence Laundromat](https://www.facebook.com/LawrenceLaundromat) is open 24-hours a day and offers free wifi. Shoutouts to Alchemy Coffee (I want a hand pie) and The Burger Stand at The Casbah, which sells duck fat fries (I need them). 
> 
> _Thank you to_ Jad, for serving as alpha  & sexting consultant; and to K.A. Graves, Riley, 51stcenturyfox, and Mary for the beta.
> 
>  **Prompt:** Write a missed connections personal ad, a reply to the ad, and a story. With the exception of the one written for this fic, the missed connections are taken from the real Lawrence craigslist.

The panties were pink. 

Castiel plucked them from the dryer between his index finger and thumb, and dropped them on a yellow folding table. A shame—they were a nice pair, judging by the amount of women's underwear he'd folded growing up, helping with the family laundry. His mother tended toward comfort, preferring cotton with sensible coverage, but Anna had experimented with undergarments that could be more accurately described as strings. 

These were somewhere in-between, with enough fabric to hide the necessary bits, and enough lace to make them alluring, made from a richly saturated fabric that had just a hint of shine—not satin, but satin- _y_ , certainly. They were expensive, was more to the point. 

It wasn't a garment that should ever find its way into a commercial washing machine, let alone a dryer. He knew enough from overhearing his mother's lectures that _good_ lingerie should be hand washed. 

He glanced right and left, wondering if the owner was still present, but the only people in Lawrence Laundromat were a young woman reading a newspaper in the seating area who had just started her wash cycle, and a man about Castiel's age with his head bent over a basket of laundry he was diligently folding. Not wanting to speculate, he left them on the table and transferred his clothes from the washer into the dryer, depositing a dollar for twenty-four minutes of drying time. It would remove most of the water, and he'd hang them to finish drying when he returned to his apartment. He was too tired to sit here for another hour. 

He settled in across from the woman in a beige chair and took out his phone, connecting to the free wifi and checking his email to stay awake. It contained two messages from Meg about their apiculture project for environmental science, and a video forward from his mother. He deleted it without watching, skimmed Meg's emails but didn't write back, and opened Facebook. 

Charlie was still awake, despite it being three in the morning—bless twenty-four hour laundromats that provided him an excuse to avoid campus antics—and had posted a picture of herself at the brewing company taken earlier that evening, arm slung around a pretty brunette. 

"In a relationship with Dorothy Gale," her status read, which made Castiel frown. He closed the app without liking the status and upbraided himself for sulking. 

His single status was by choice. People asked him out, but he never accepted, the exception being his fling with Hannah during freshman year that had confirmed his status as a firm six on the Kinsey scale. That led to a month of denial and one-and-a-half years of self loathing, which had morphed to acceptance now that he was in his junior year. But dating was stressful—having to gauge a person's interest, whether it was physical or emotional or both. He derived enough satisfaction from his studies and got enough social interaction from his small group of friends to be content, but sometimes it was nice to think about being with someone. 

He allowed his gaze to travel across the room, to the man folding laundry. He was good looking, with brown hair and well-shaped arms, in a simple black shirt and dusty jeans. Castiel tried to guess details about his life from each item he folded. He owned an assortment of long-sleeved plaid shirts and several t-shirts—Castiel caught a flash of lettering across the fronts, possibly band names. He'd heard of AC/DC. Cornflower blue shirts spoke of uniforms, perhaps from a hardware store or a mechanic's shop. Several pairs of pants followed: jeans and khakis and a pair of plaid drawstring pants that were likely for sleeping. He folded each item and laid them in the basket. Finally, he shook out a few pairs of boxers, folded them in half, then quarters, and set them on top of the pile. 

He frowned, looking down at the floor, then behind him at the row of dryers. He perked up, presumably spotting the item in question, and walked a few feet to snatch up the panties Castiel had thoughtfully left in the open. Ah, Castiel thought, they probably belonged to his girlfriend. The guy crammed them in the side of his basket, then looked around in a manner Castiel could only describe as embarrassed and rubbed his neck. He met Castiel's eyes for a moment, then scowled and looked away. He slipped on a worn brown leather jacket and hurried out the door. 

Castiel watched over his shoulder, squinting when twin headlights stabbed through the plate glass and an engine growled to life. A dark car slipped backwards from the parking space and roared away. Castiel sighed and watched the tail lights shrink, the engine drowned by the laundromat's ambient noise. 

+

Thirty minutes later, he unlocked his apartment with the laundry basket held against his side, mail clenched in his teeth, and hip-checked the door inward. He left the mail in a pile on the kitchen counter and carted his basket to the bathroom, where he hung up his jeans over the shower curtain rod and laid his socks across the towel bar. He mused while he worked. 

It was a little strange that all of the man's clothing had looked like, well, men's clothing, when the panties had been so delicate. Castiel hadn't seen anything remotely feminine in the lot, though he supposed not everyone had his sister's fashion taste. It was perfectly reasonable that a woman might wear t-shirts and jeans with beautiful lingerie underneath. 

Of course, the panties might be a trinket; or they'd gotten into his laundry by accident; or perhaps he'd agreed to wash them as a favor, since he'd made a point of looking for them. Or perhaps...perhaps...

Thinking back, the waistband had been wide enough to fit over Castiel's hips. It wasn't out of the question that the panties belonged to the man himself, which was a visual he'd need to work out of his head. 

He finished hanging up his laundry and washed his hands and face, then brushed his teeth before changing for bed. He usually slept in a t-shirt and boxers, but tonight he opted for sheets only, lying on his back and jerking himself slowly as he thought about pink lace sliding over decidedly masculine hips.

+

The missed connection was _not_ his idea. It didn't even come from his _computer_.

It was the brainchild of one Charlie Bradbury, aka Castiel's geology lab partner freshman year, aka Castiel's Former Best Friend, whom he was currently glaring at over a cup of cold brew coffee and a vanilla donut. 

"You'll thank me later," she said, clinking her cup against his, pinching bits of pistachio from his donut and eating them with a smirk. 

"I doubt it," he said icily, sliding his plate out of her reach. 

"Look, it doesn't identify you. It just provides enough information for him to recognize himself, if he reads it. If he's interested, he contacts us. Simple." 

"I want to read it." He wiped his mouth and stuck out a hand for her phone, widening his eyes when she didn't hand it over immediately. 

"It's not bad," she defended.

"I want to read it," he repeated.

"I did it out of love," she said and slapped the phone on his palm. 

Castiel skimmed the words on the screen and snapped his eyes up to hers, narrowing.

"I hate you," he declared.

"You say that now." Charlie grinned as she stood up to steal the rest of his donut. 

+

"Listen to this one," Benny crooned. "' _You stopped by our table along with our server so you could compliment my jersey. Can't get over how cute you were. Hit me up if you wanna hang._ '"

"Romantic," Dean deadpanned, raising the newspaper higher over his face.

"This one's better: ' _To the girl that helped her friend out today. Tell me how you helped him. You were very attractive._ ' Is it possible to be more vague?"

Dean rubbed his forehead. "You're rotting your brain reading that shit."

"Here's a good one, love at the deli counter at Walmart."

"Benny, man," Dean protested, shaking the paper for effect, "I'm trying to read." 

"And I'm trying to cheer you up," Benny said. "You've been moping on my couch for a month."

When Dean glared at him, Benny held up a hand in submission, then added, "Hold on, one more—I think you'll like this one."

Dean sighed and lowered the newspaper to his lap, let his head fall back against a throw cushion.

"' _I saw you at three in the morning at Lawrence Laundromat last week. You mislaid a pair of pink panties.'"_ Dean's eyes shot wide. _"'Were they yours? If so, I'd like to see you in them._ '"

He swallowed, angling his face down and worrying the edge of the newspaper between his fingers. That couldn't possibly—shit. 

 _Shit_. Well, who else could it be about?

There'd only been a few people there, some chick with blonde hair who'd barely looked at him, the attendant, and Sex Hair Guy, which—jesus. 

"Ain't that a laugh, brother?" Benny chuckled. "I don't suppose you've been making trips to the laundromat in the middle of the night."

"Heh," Dean croaked. Benny just shook his head. 

"I'll never forget the time I found those in your drawer."

"Dude, shut up," Dean muttered and launched a throw pillow offensive at his head. 

"Hey," Benny said, closing his laptop. "This is a judgment-free zone. Now you need to get your ass off my couch, and we are going out. Understood?"

"Fine," Dean said flatly. 

"We are going to celebrate being young and being single," Benny said, slapping Dean's shoulder. "And if memory serves, today is your birthday."

"Whatever," Dean groused, though the corner of his mouth perked up. "You're buying."

+

The hangover wasn't his worst, historically. The one the day after his breakup with Lisa definitely made his top ten. This was somewhere in the mid-thirties, strong enough to keep him in bed past nine with a pounding headache but not so bad that he turned away food. Benny made a feast of pancakes and biscuits and sausage, which wafted under the guest room door on a wave of coffee that Benny deposited on the nightstand.

"Good morning, princess," he drawled. 

"Fuck you," Dean groused, burrowing under the sheet. "How are you so goddamned chipper?"

"I made your favorite," Benny said, ignoring him. "Eat up and grab a shower."

Dean thrust a hand from underneath the covers and flipped him off. Benny swatted him on the head and laughed his way out of the room. 

Dean scarfed down the food, chasing each bite with coffee that he prayed would ease the throbbing behind his eyes. He kept the lights down, popped two Advil and switched on the TV, watching a blender infomercial on mute. Every few minutes, his eyes drifted to his laptop,layered with paperwork and magazines. 

He could just check, read the post for himself. He never saw it. It was possible Benny made it up, and just—what. Guessed exactly what Dean was doing the week before? 

It took several minutes to locate the site. It was someone's "list." Not that Angie chick; that was some TV commercial for home repair. This was a guy's name—Chad? No, Craig. That was it. 

Three minutes later, he had a list of missed connections in front of him, and scoured it for familiar subject lines. 

He found it halfway down the page, "Lawrence Laundromat (Lawrence)" and glanced to the door before clicking the link. Good thing Sammy taught him how to clear his browser history. 

+

"Tell me you love me," Charlie declared, sliding into the booth across from Castiel, who narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" he asked, unfolding a menu.

"No reason," she said with a shrug, "unless you want to read the email from your mystery man."

"He wrote back?" Castiel asked, unable to stop his eyes from widening. Charlie grinned in triumph.

"Are you still pissed?"

"Yes," Castiel told her. 

She rolled her eyes and slid her phone across the table. Her lock screen was a photograph of her and Dorothy that shouldn't cause a sour feeling in Castiel's stomach. He swiped to unlock the phone and squinted at the email on the screen.

" _Hey. Are you the guy with dark hair and a staring problem? I could arrange a show_."

Holy shit.

"Holy _shit_ ," he murmured. 

"You've gotta write him back," Charlie said, which prompted Castiel's hissed, "No!" 

She looked disappointed, eyebrows drawing together in pity, the way they had when he'd confided his certainty that the Millennium Falcon wasn't a real species.

"Why _not_?" 

"This is hardly relationship material."

"Relationship?" she repeated. "I'm trying to get you laid."

"Just delete it. Please. Let's pretend this never happened."

Charlie studied his face for a beat before sighing and taking her phone back. She tapped the screen a few times and slipped it in her bag. 

"So." She sighed and opened her menu. "I'm getting a burger. You wanna split the artichoke dip?"

+

A week passed, but the guy never wrote back, which was a little disappointing. It would've been nice to be with someone who wanted to see him wear them, maybe someone who'd order Dean to lie on his back and just look, or make him roll on his stomach and massage his ass through the lace. Or maybe he would've pulled them aside and sucked Dean's dick while Dean tugged on his hair.

But no reply showed up, and Dean was glad the ordeal was over. He cleared the history in both browsers, picked up a box of Ivory Snow at the grocery store, and researched alternative laundromats for the remainder of the time he'd be crashing at Benny's.

+

Charlie rolled into Winchester Auto on a Tuesday morning in late February. She drove her yellow Gremlin, which was a bad car on its best day. Dean groaned and meandered from the shop to the front desk, upending his lukewarm coffee while he waited for her to come inside. 

"Are you ever gonna upgrade?" he asked before she was through the shop door.

"Says the man with a '67 Impala," she clucked, chimes clanging behind her as she approached the counter. 

"Ain't nothing wrong with my baby," Dean defended. He jabbed a finger toward the Gremlin parked outside. "That thing's a piece of crap."

"I like it," Charlie said, throwing him her keys. "I need an oil change, and I'm having problems with the back window again."

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and punched up her information in the computer, then glanced to the shop where Ash was frowning at the underside of a '98 Camry. 

"I can't get you in for about an hour," he said. "You wanna wait?"

"That's fine," she said. "I'm meeting a friend for lunch, so he can come grab me. You know, I should introduce the two of you. He's pretty dreamy."

"No," Dean said and stuck out his hand for her key. She twisted it from her Death Star keychain. He affixed a plastic strap to it and clipped it to her work order. "Alright, I'll give you a call when it's done."

"You're the best," she said and camped out in the waiting area, feet propped on the coffee table. He watched her for a moment as she tapped out a message on her screen and waited for a reply, then he made a phone call about a recall and signed for a parts delivery from UPS. 

Dreamy. Whatever. 

Dean didn't get heart palpitations when an engine shut off in the the parking lot, and he didn't perk up when the door chimed, and he _definitely_ didn't gape when Sex Hair Guy breezed through the door of the auto shop in a frigging trench coat. 

"Hey," Charlie exclaimed, standing up. "Why didn't you just text me? I would've come outside."

"I'm overdue for maintenance," Sex Hair Guy replied, motioning to a car Dean couldn't see. "I thought I'd inquire about pricing."

"No place better," Charlie said. "Dean here'll take _good_ care of you."

Dean stared stupidly while Sex Hair Guy approached, swallowing hard and trying to remember what his job entailed. 

"Uh," he said as Sex Hair Guy folded his hands on the counter and fixed his gaze on Dean. His eyes were brilliantly, absurdly blue. Dean was almost positive it was the same guy, but if he recognized Dean, he gave no indication. Dean slapped on his best professional face. "Make and model?"

"It's a 1978 Lincoln Continental," Sex Hair Guy replied. 

"Okay," Dean croaked, clearing his throat and creating a new customer entry in the system. "Name?"

"Castiel Novak."

"Can you spell that?"

He did.

"License plate and VIN, if you know them, otherwise I can grab them off the car."

Castiel shook his head. "Sorry."

"No problem." Dean tapped down to the next field. He scowled at the monitor. "Color?"

Castiel hesitated, eyes flicking down to Dean's name tag momentarily before he replied, "I—I'm sorry, what?"

"Doesn't have to be the manufacturer's name for it, just the color."

"Oh," Castiel said, cheeks slightly pink—pink, _christ_. "Of course. It's gold."

"Alright." Dean did his best not to sound strangled. "And when did you want to bring it in?"

"What's your first available?"

"Soon as I'm done with Charlie's rust bucket. She said you guys were running to lunch, so I can take you after. You're looking for a basic inspection?"

"And an oil change," Castiel said. "Do you need payment now?"

"Nah, we'll take care of that when you come back." Dean smiled and stepped a respectable distance back from the counter, waiting for Castiel to turn around and leave. But he didn't. He just stood there, a question playing around his eyes. He opened his mouth, lips just parted, like he was going to speak—did he recognize Dean after all?—but Charlie grabbed his sleeve.

"I'm starving," she said. She looked at Dean. "Can I bring you anything?"

"Never met a cheeseburger I didn't like," Dean quipped, reddening when he noticed Castiel smiling faintly. "I got cash."

"It's on me," she said. "I couldn't make your birthday soiree."

"Then you owe me more than a burger," he teased. "Late fees."

"And interest," Castiel added solemnly. "Should we bring you dessert?"

"Sure," Dean said, licking his lips, aware that Castiel watched him do it. "Pie?"

"Pie," Castiel repeated with a nod before allowing Charlie to tug him out of the shop. 

Shit, Dean thought. Shit shit shit. He was flirting. That was flirting, right? 

He busied himself underneath Charlie's car, cursing at the amount of rust. One day, _one day_ he'd talk her into something decent. His dad found him under the car twenty minutes later.

"I see we've got a Lincoln coming in later. You want me to take that, let you get out of here? Your mom said you need to study."

"I got it," Dean said too quickly, with a hint too much enthusiasm. His dad leveled him with a knowing look. 

"I'll leave you to it, then. Will you be home for dinner?"

"Uh, I dunno," Dean replied and wiped his forehead.

"Text your mother either way, let her know."

"Will do." Dean listened to his dad's footsteps retreat. 

The truth is, he could've used the study time, but there was no way he would be getting any studying done tonight, not now that Castiel Novak would be coming back to the shop in about an hour. 

He probably wouldn't stay. He'd leave with Charlie after swapping cars, come back later to pay and pick it up, but there would likely be a couple minutes when they'd be alone together. 

Dean secured the oil pan and lowered the lift before addressing Charlie's second issue. These back windows were junk. He was surprised Charlie's had lasted this long, considering the car was from the '70s and Dean had rigged this thing back into place a half dozen times. He finished up, went back inside to call Charlie and let her know she was all set, then washed up in anticipation of his lunch break. 

+

Charlie set down her fire burger and wiped avocado from her mouth with a flat expression.

"Okay," she said, "I thought you were just in one of your moods, but if you're not cheered up by duck fat fries...what the heck is up with you?"

Castiel took a deep breath and wished it were possible for a sinkhole to open up underneath Massachusetts Street and swallow him. 

"Seriously," she continued, "you haven't been this weird since the Craigslist thing."

Castiel's eyes snapped up to hers in panic. Charlie's widened.

"Oh my god." She lowered her voice. "Did you write him?"

"No!"

She stewed in quiet disappointment for a moment before her expression sharpened. She picked up a fry, bit off the end, and pointed the stub at Castiel. 

" _Wait_ a second," she said. "You said you thought he was a mechanic."

"Is it warm in here?" Castiel asked, tugging at his neckline and glancing toward the exit. "Are you ready to go?"

"Are you telling me that Dean Winchester wears lingerie?"

"I...I can't be certain it's him." Castiel twisted the napkin between his fingers. "It was the middle of the night, and I was very tired."

"I cannot believe I didn't know this about him," Charlie lamented, sitting back in her chair. 

"Do you know him well?" Castiel asked. 

"We hang out sometimes. I've tried to get him to go LARPing with me. I think he'd be into it."

"And is he..." Castiel raised both eyebrows.

"Gay? No, he loves women. But he likes guys too. I actually thought about setting you two up."

"Hmm," Castiel hummed and caught their server's eye. "Do you have pie?" he inquired.

"Sorry, no," she told him and laid their bill on the table. 

"We have to find pie," Castiel declared.

"He'll be fine," Charlie promised, but Castiel shook his head and paid with a credit card.

Charlie rolled her eyes when he pulled up to Alchemy. "I'll just be a minute," he said.

"I thought you weren't sure it was him."

Castiel patently ignored her and went inside to buy two hand pies: one pear, one mixed chocolate. He returned with them in a small paper bag and did not acknowledge her grin, didn't look in her direction until they were parked in front of Winchester Auto.

"Not a word," he cautioned. 

"I'm here to pay and leave," she said, holding her hands up in innocence. "Do you want me to drop you at your place, bring you back?"

When Castiel hesitated, she snorted.

"I want to hear about this later," she said and got out of the car.

True to her word, she didn't linger, paid Dean and offered him the Vulcan salute before chugging away in her yellow car. Castiel stared after her before working up the courage to turn around and hold up the two bags of food.

"It's a classic burger and hand pies."

"Awesome," Dean said, flushing. "Uh, we've got a break room if you want to, um. I mean, you're welcome to come with me."

"Thank you."

He followed Dean through the door behind the counter, which opened into a short hallway. They sat at a small table against the wall, underneath a poster of OSHA regulations and a sign that read "Company Policies for Idjits." 

"My manager's idea of motivation," Dean said, nodding toward it when he noticed Castiel staring. "Thanks for this, man."

"Of course," said Castiel, feeling warm. He shrugged off his coat.

"So how do you know Charlie?" Dean asked through a full mouth.

"We were assigned as lab partners freshman year. You?"

"I keep that car of hers on the road." Dean grinned. "And we've had a couple classes together."

"I'm surprised I've never met you."

"Well, I live with my folks, so I'm not on campus except for classes. And then I work here, which eats up most of my time."

"I see." A thought occurred to him. If Dean lived at home, it followed that Dean likely had access to a washer and dryer and would have no need to be at Lawrence Laundromat at three in the morning in January. He had a sinking feeling that he was mistaken and had worked himself up for nothing when Dean spoke up:

"Course, they had a bunch of renovations done after the new year, so I stayed at my friend's place for a few weeks. You got a place of your own?"

"Yes."

"Must be nice," Dean said, shaking his head as he took another bite. "Only thing that sucks is he doesn't have a washer, so I had to haul my shit to the laundromat."

He trailed off, catching Castiel's eye. Castiel had the suspicion that Dean mentioned the laundromat on purpose, that this was Castiel's invitation to speak up. But his voice caught in his throat, thinking about how he would explain Charlie's involvement, that Charlie _knew_ , that Castiel hadn't written that message, but that he'd very much like to do as it claimed. 

"That's too bad," he said. 

Dean exhaled through his nose and looked away. 

"I brought two kinds of pie," Castiel offered after a while, opening the second bag, bolstered when Dean brightened. "Pear and chocolate. I didn't know which you'd prefer."

"How 'bout we split them?" 

"I didn't bring a knife," Castiel apologized, looking around for one.

"You got any diseases?" Dean asked.

"What? No." 

"So you eat half of one, and then we'll switch." Dean grinned at his own logic and continued eating his burger while Castiel selected a pie. He bit in slowly, aware of Dean's eyes on him. 

"How is it?" Dean asked.

"Good," Castiel said, swallowing crust and chocolate. "Buttery."

"Never seen a pie like that."

"It's from my favorite coffee shop," Castiel told him. 

"Which one?"

"Alchemy."

"Never been," Dean confided.

"I'll take you," Castiel said immediately, belatedly realizing how it must sound. He drew in a breath as Dean blinked a couple times and set down the crest of hamburger bun, smiling as he reached for the other pie. 

"You from around here?" Dean asked, biting into it. He moaned a little and closed his eyes, giving Castiel a thumbs-up.

"Illinois," Castiel replied. 

"Long way from home."

"About eight hours. It's not a bad drive. That's why I brought my car in, to make sure it's alright to make the trip. I'm supposed to visit them over spring break."

"Speaking of," Dean said, checking his watch. "I should get started on it so you can get out of here."

"I'm not in a hurry," Castiel assured him. 

Dean laughed a little before taking another bite, then set the pie on the paper bag. "That's delicious. I'm definitely saving that for later."

"I'm glad you like it."

Dean smiled at him warmly for a moment before getting up, motioning for Castiel to follow him back out front. 

He situated himself in the small waiting area and kept occupied by perusing a stack of limp magazines, ignoring Charlie's text messages— _What's going on? Did you tell him yet???_ Her subsequent messages grew in punctuation. The inquisition culminated with a text that was simply a line of question marks. 

Maybe...maybe he should just ask Dean out, confirm the coffee date he'd already mentioned. The idea of dating seemed less abhorrent when he pictured Dean seated across from him with a coffee and a muffin. He knew very few things about Dean, but he liked the things he _did_ know. At the very least, he could ask for a phone number. That's what normal people did. 

Nearly an hour later, he pulled away from Winchester Auto, sans phone number and sans date, and ignored the message notifications on his phone as Charlie's tone continued to ping.

+

It was unethical. 

It was unethical and also grounds for firing, but Dean entered Castiel's number into his phone. He was sure Castiel wanted him to, making a point to write the word "cell" next to it on the form when he signed, underlining it twice. He accepted his key, held Dean's gaze a moment too long, thanked him, and left. 

If Dean hadn't been sure Castiel was the guy from the laundromat, he wouldn't have believed that he was the same person who wrote the post. He seemed reserved, almost a little shy. Maybe that explained why he never wrote back. Or maybe he never got Dean's reply. Maybe he had no idea that Dean was interested. 

Ethical or no, it was imperative he take down the number, if only to write and say thanks for lunch.

His mom commented that he was unusually quiet at dinner, but she only raised an eyebrow when he announced he was going to his room after they were done loading the dishwasher. 

He ate the rest of the pie while he flipped through the evening's TV lineup. He browsed a couple skin mags he had stashed under the bed before he switched off the lights and tried to sleep. He arranged his head on the pillow until he was comfortable and waited to drift off. The murmur of his parents' voices floated up from downstairs; branches scratched across the roof. He turned over so he faced the wall, but after fifteen minutes he gave up the farce and picked up his phone.

He'd just say hello. He'd say hello and thanks for lunch. If Castiel was interested, it would give him one more chance to make it known. And if not, well, it wouldn't be Dean's first adios.

He kept it short— _thanks again for the pie_ —and watched the corner of the screen in case Castiel wrote back in real-time. The status changed from "delivered" to "read," but after half a minute, Dean's screen went dark. He sighed and set the phone back on his nightstand. 

God, what if Castiel called the shop to complain? Best-case scenario, he'd be subjected to one of Bobby's tongue lashings. 

He frowned into his pillow just in time to hear his phone chirp twice in succession. _It's probably not him_ , he told himself, holding his breath as he turned the phone over and pressed the home button. It displayed two unread messages from Castiel Novak.

_You're welcome._

_I'm there frequently if you'd like to join me sometime._

Dean brought his knees up to his chest and balanced his phone on top of them as he considered his response.

 _that'd be awesome_ , he wrote. _hope you don't mind me texting you_.

 _I got your number from Charlie_ , Castiel admitted. _I hadn't figured out what to write yet._

_car running okay?_

_The car is fine. Thank you. :-)_

_good_ , Dean said. He paused and added, _when are you leaving for home?_

 _Next Friday_ , Castiel replied. 

_we should get coffee before then_

_I'd like that._

_yeah?_

_Yes. May I ask you a strange question?_

_sure_

_Are you familiar with Lawrence Laundromat?_

Dean exhaled and chewed his lip, settling back against the pillows. His heart thumped so loudly he could hear it. 

_how come you never wrote me back?_

_I thought about it. I wish I had._

_me too_

_Are they really yours?_

_yeah. you still want to see them?_

There was a pause. Then—

_Yes._

_on me?_

_Yes._

Dean climbed out of bed, locked his door and went to his dresser. He stepped out of his boxers and took the pink lace pair from its hiding place behind his jeans. He lifted a foot and slipped it through the opening, then the other, sliding them up and over his hips. He adjusted so they held him in place, cock straining against the thin fabric. He bit his lip and snapped a picture.

Castiel responded within seconds, before Dean was back in bed. 

_You look incredible._

_yeah?_

_Yes._

_what would you do if you were here?_

_I'd look at you._

Dean swallowed, a flush settling over his face and neck.

 _what else?_ he asked.

_I'd touch you. If you let me._

_touch me how?_

The typing indicator animated in the bottom left of the screen for several seconds, then stopped. Dean chewed on his thumbnail until it displayed again and Castiel's response came through. 

_I want to feel you through the lace._

_with your hands?_

_At first._

_then?_

A full minute passed before Castiel replied again: 

_I would put my mouth on you._

_you wanna go down on me?_

_Yes, but I would leave them on._

Dean's heart slammed in his chest. He adjusted so he could slide the panties down, grab hold of himself.

_would you take my dick out?_

_No. I want to suck you through the fabric._

_Jesus_ , Dean thought and squeezed.

_are you touching yourself?_

_I can._

_do it. send me a pic_

Castiel sent a shot angled down his stomach, fist wrapped around his dick, pink and pearling at the tip. Dean shivered and stretched out on his side, stroking himself as he typed back with one hand.

_too bad we're not in the same place_

_You should come over._

_what right now?_

_Yes._

An address followed. Dean grinned in anticipation, relaxing his neck into the pillow. A few more seconds and he'd be there. He pulled up Castiel's picture again and imagined sucking him off, pumped his hand faster as the pressure built. He felt full and tight, body charged. His stomach hollowed out and he held his breath, ready to go over the edge, when the phone chimed—

_Don't come before you get here. Please._

He stilled his hand immediately, squeezing his eyes closed and making a tight fist at the base of his dick to stave off his orgasm. Fuck. _Fuck_ , if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever read, but he was right fucking _there_. He took a couple deep breaths and let go, balling his hands into the sheets before getting up and pulling his jeans back on. 

He hopped on one foot to get his socks on as he scrounged for a clean t-shirt. He furiously brushed his teeth, checked his hair. It was only eleven, and he didn't have classes until ten tomorrow. Situations like this were why God invented coffee.

"Going out!" he called to his parents as he tore down the stairs and out the door.

+

It seemed like a great idea a couple minutes earlier, but the drive rattled his nerves, almost causing him to drive past Castiel's building and head back home—what if Castiel didn't like them? What if he was actually some wackjob? 

No. No, he was friends with Charlie, and Dean was getting laid tonight. He palmed his dick as he spotted Castiel's apartment complex and turned into the parking lot. 

He parked the car and looked at the picture Castiel had sent. It sent another wave of excitement through him. He rode it from the sidewalk to Castiel's door—alright, yeah. He could do this. Dean took a steadying breath before he knocked, his heart racing, and heard the clunk of a deadbolt turning within seconds. 

The door opened inward, and Castiel stood in a beige hallway in pajama pants and a t-shirt and smiled at him. 

"Hello," he said. 

"Hey." Dean felt suddenly shy. He stepped through the door when Castiel made room for him, coming a few feet into the apartment and stopping. 

"Did you find it okay?" Castiel asked as he locked the door.

"Yeah," Dean said, taking off his coat and kicking off his shoes. 

Castiel turned and kissed him almost chastely, which he didn't expect. He pressed his palm to Dean's cheek. 

"I'm glad you came over," he admitted. 

He kissed Dean again with more intensity, hand moving to Dean's chest. Castiel walked him backward a foot until Dean's back collided with the wall. They stayed there for a long time, Castiel's mouth working over his, his hands settling over Dean's hips. Dean slid his hands under Castiel's t-shirt, to the small of his back.

It felt comfortable. They swayed against each other. Castiel's hips pressed forward into his and he teased at Dean's waistband.

"Are you wearing them?" His voice was a little husky, a little timid. Dean nodded. Castiel moved his hands to Dean's ass and squeezed. "Show me."

"Okay," Dean promised and lowered his hands to unzip his fly, but Castiel caught them and shook his head. He kept hold of Dean's hand and led him into the bedroom, a sparse room with dark blue curtains and a matching bedspread. 

"Lie down," Castiel directed before he switched off the light. Dean obeyed, settling on his back in the middle of the bed. Castiel peeled off his shirt and threw it onto the floor. In the moonlight, Dean made out the contours of his body, thin and muscular—maybe a runner. Castiel tugged the string on his waistband and the pants fell away. 

Dean swallowed as he got a look at him, better in person than in a pic. Castiel dipped his head and walked forward, placed a hand on either side of Dean's legs and crawled onto the bed. He hovered over Dean, taking both of Dean's hands and bringing them over Dean's body, above his head. He pressed them into the pillow and kissed him thoroughly, long enough that Dean got the message: he was supposed to leave his hands in place. He cupped them together and relaxed his arms, opened his mouth to let Castiel lick inside. 

Castiel kissed the side of his neck, released Dean's wrists and pushed his shirt up his chest so he could kiss a trail down his stomach. He paused, leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp. 

  
(commission by [thunderjellyfish](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/))

He sucked on Dean's stomach as he unfastened his jeans, then sat back on his knees and tugged them off. Dean lifted his hips, lifted each foot while Castiel pulled the jeans free. He moaned when Castiel kissed the inside of his knee, his inner thigh, before nosing over his crotch. Dean itched to touch him, wanted to bury his hands in Castiel's hair, but he kept them tightly locked together and tried to breathe.

Castiel exhaled over his dick, his breath hot and wet. 

"You're leaking," he whispered, awed, touching the damp spot. He settled his mouth over the head and sucked gently, just like he'd promised. Dean gasped in relief, wringing his hands together at the pressure of Castiel's tongue. He moved it in slow, deliberate circles, his hands sliding over Dean's hips and underneath him to squeeze his ass. 

Castiel kissed his way up Dean's stomach and over his chest, experimentally swiping his tongue over Dean's left nipple, then his right, closing his lips around it before settling over him. Castiel lay naked on top of Dean so their hips pressed together, separated by a layer of cotton and lace. He kissed Dean's neck as he ground their hips slowly, whispering, "You're beautiful like this."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for letting me see them. Is it just this pair?"

"No."

"You have others?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted.

Castiel exhaled against his ear. "Tell me what they look like."

Dean got a whiff of his hair, something like cucumbers and mint, and his mind momentarily shorted out. "Um," he said, arching his hips up. "I got black ones."

"Are they lace?"

"Yeah, the whole back. They cover more than these do."

"Do you wear them in public?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?" Castiel asked, pulling back enough that Dean could see his eyes, the genuine question. He wet his lips nervously.

"I like how they feel."

Castiel nodded, apparently satisfied with Dean's response, and traced the side of his face. "You can touch me," he murmured, which was all the invitation Dean needed. He groaned and threaded his hands in Castiel's hair, rolled them over so he was the one grinding down into Castiel's hips. 

"I wanna suck your cock," Dean said against his mouth. "Can I?"

He took Castiel's delighted laugh to be his answer.

+

Castiel could hardly believe this was happening. He _never_ did things like this, never sent intimate texts or invited strangers to his apartment, never got naked and pinned a hot guy to his bed. He’d never even brought up the email again. But he felt emboldened by the strange electricity thatcharged through him upon receiving Dean's picture: he wanted this, and for the first time in his life, he was asking for exactly what he wanted. 

Dean massaged his thumbs into Castiel's inner thighs and lowered his head. He was flushed a blotchy pink from his cheeks to mid-chest. He closed his eyes when he put his mouth on Castiel, taking him as deeply as possible, so Dean's nose and forehead pressed into his belly. Castiel groaned at the heat and pressure. Dean pulled off with a sloppy, wet noise and did it again, then wrapped a fist around the base and grinned up at Castiel as he started to pump his hand. 

"You taste good," he praised.

Dean's technique was breathtaking. He twisted his head as he pulled off and swirled his tongue simultaneously—Castiel thrust upwards gently, not wanting to choke him, a controlled rocking that Dean matched, gripping Castiel's hips. He looked up from between Castiel's legs, mouth around his dick, irises dark, and Castiel groaned. He petted Dean's hair and closed his eyes. 

It was surprisingly natural how their bodies responded to each other, how Dean interpreted Castiel's sounds, pausing to lavish attention on the head when Castiel moaned, licking from the base to the tip when Castiel choked on his breath. He worked tirelessly, increasing his pace when Castiel's fingers tightened in his hair, slowing when Castiel stroked it. 

He could feel the orgasm building, the way his feet tingled and his head felt dizzy, like he was flying, like he was falling. 

"Dean, I'm going to—" 

Dean took him deeper, holding Castiel in his mouth as he climaxed, caressing him with his lips until he stopped pulsing, then went still. Castiel softened inside Dean's mouth, shivering when Dean slid off. 

Dean kissed him. Castiel could taste himself through Dean's toothpaste. He wrapped his legs around Dean's waist and looped his arms behind his neck, smiling against his mouth. 

"What about you?" he asked, drunk on Dean's taste and his smell and his weight on top of Castiel.

"What about me?" 

"You didn't get off yet."

"Trying to make it last," Dean confessed, stroking a hand down Castiel's cheek. Castiel leaned into it, licked a stripe up Dean's palm. He'd never done that either and he liked it, liked how Dean groaned as a result and let Castiel roll them over.

Dean tasted like salt and fabric softener and came with his fingers tight in Castiel's hair.

+

Castiel's lease ran out in August. They signed on the new place two weeks before he had to be out, paying the first and last month's deposit. It wasn't as close to campus as his old apartment, but the rent was reasonable and it featured an in-unit washer and dryer, which had been at the top of their amenity list.

The Winchesters initially questioned Dean's decision to spend money on rent. They lived in the same town—what was the point? But when Castiel came over for dinner after signing the lease and John directed him to park his Lincoln in the driveway, he got a peculiar look on his face. Mary brought up the rent issue over blueberry pie, but John chuckled and asked if she remembered how excited they were to get _their_ first place. She hesitated for a moment, then blushed as her eyes darted between them in understanding. That was the end of the argument. 

Dean borrowed his dad's pickup to transport his bed and dresser. With Benny's help, they lugged in the old couch Dean's parents kept in the basement and the TV from Dean's bedroom. They had the place set up by the time Castiel and Charlie arrived with his possessions in just a few boxes, which they unpacked in a couple hours with a case of beer. He relished the pride he felt when he placed the framed photograph of his family next to Dean's battered copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_.

Dean's parents stopped by around dinner time and brought takeout, a couple frozen casseroles, and a potted plant that Castiel set next to the kitchen sink. They stayed to chat until Charlie left to meet Dorothy a little before seven. John hugged them both, and Mary gave Dean instructions for heating up the casseroles. Benny stuck around until the beer ran out and conversation devolved to yawns. Dean offered to drive him home so he didn't have to take a cab.

"Be right back," he promised, kissing Castiel on his way out. 

Castiel used the time to break down his moving boxes and take them to the trash room along with the beer cans. He ran the vacuum and wiped down the counter, then switched off the lights and sat on the couch under a blanket to wait for Dean.

He must have dozed off, because he woke to Dean draped over the back of the couch, arms crossed over Castiel's chest. 

"Hey, you," Dean whispered, kissing the side of his face until Castiel blinked awake. He was the happiest he'd ever been in that moment, waking up to find Dean wrapped around him. He brought his hands up to cover Dean's and swayed back into him. 

"Hello."

They fell exhausted into _their_ bed, in their very own apartment—an apartment that filled with Castiel's laughter when he unzipped Dean's fly and saw pink. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> AHH, I did it! Thanks for reading! I'm also [on Tumblr](http://museaway.tumblr.com) and [on Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/museatplay). And if you like reblogging things, [here's the tumblr post](http://www.museaway.com/post/114935366265/pink-dean-cas-museaway).


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